


Lost in Thoughts of You

by LunarExo



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Minor End Game Spoilers, Pining so hard your brain don't work good anymore, Post-Game, Primrose the wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarExo/pseuds/LunarExo
Summary: For not the first time that day, Cyrus' mind wandered. By now, where it would go had become painfully predictable.





	Lost in Thoughts of You

He supposed it would make sense that after defeating the God of Life and Death itself, Cyrus would have trouble readjusting to normalcy. He loved his work without question, but time and time again he found his mind wandering elsewhere. To battles fought and won, to the mountain peaks and ancient tombs he’d wandered, to meals shared with seven unlikely companions and the soft sounds of those same companions sleeping around him. 

To be honest, he had to admit that his attention was not divided equally among each scenario. Of course, it would be both noble and understandable to ruminate frequently on battling a banished god, or to reminisce on the many evils he’d discovered in his travels. Yet again and again, he found himself instead focused on what he _didn’t_ do, the quiet words that had been trapped in his throat. 

~*~*~*~

“I know you’re awake,” the accusatory statement made Cyrus stiffen automatically, rolling over to face the source.

He relaxed a moment later, when his sleep deprived mind processed the voice as Therion’s. “I am,” he whispered back, “and I can’t help but notice you are as well. Am I thinking too loud for you?” His words came out just a bite more sarcastic than he’d intended, exhaustion leaving him a little quick to annoy. 

But Therion took it in stride, his shoulder’s shaking with soft laughter, illuminated by the moonlight shining in, “you’re always thinking too loud. You should hear it sometime, it’s impossible.”

“You’re impossible,” Cyrus quipped back, a scowl on his face, “and quiet down! You’ll wake the others.” 

Therion sat up at that, his hair taking on an almost ethereal glow, bangs falling elegantly to cover his face. “We could rob them blind and light this whole damn inn on fire, and these two fools would sleep right through it.”

“We? Since when am I involved in your nefarious plots?”

“Since now.” He snickered softly, Cyrus watching him inquisitively. 

Ignoring Therion’s joking altogether, he leaned up on one elbow, chin resting on his hand, “can you not sleep either?” 

Therion shrugged, looking pointedly away from Cyrus. He might have intended to hide something, but the action only made his feelings more clear. 

Slowly—slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted—Cyrus reached out with his free hand, touching Therion’s knee gently. “If you’d like to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

“…I’ve been thinking,” Therion finally admitted, gaze shifting to Cyrus’ hand, “about where I’ll go when this is all over. You’ve all got homes to go back to, families and friends and _lives_ to return to. I never thought I’d want to settle somewhere—never thought I could, really, until Tressa mentioned how many leaves we’ve accumulated—but it seems so pointless to go back to it.”

‘Then come with me, back to Atlasdam.’ The words formed on Cyrus’ tongue, the images quick to pop into his head. Therion was no scholar, but Cyrus would claim him as an apprentice anyway. Not that it would be for anything but show. Of course, he’d try to impart what knowledge he could, but he’d be happy to just have a companion, especially one who knew of the grand journey he’d been on. 

…He’d be a fool not to admit what a selfish desire it was. This smart, dangerous, brilliant man had captivated him from the moment they’d met, but that didn’t mean the feeling was mutual. He was lucky they were on such good terms at all, especially with the extent of his infatuation all but rolling off of him in waves. 

Instead, Cyrus squeezed his knee, their eyes finally meeting, “have you considered buying a manor for yourself? Perhaps you can set traps for a prize that doesn’t exist.”

“…Perhaps,” Therion laid back down at that, Cyrus retracting his hand, “Goodnight, professor. I’ll see you in the morning.”

~*~*~*~

Cyrus considered himself a smart man—definitely one smart enough to know Therion never would have agreed to his thoughtless whims—but the memory lingered in his mind all the same, and Cyrus regretted more each moment not simply _asking,_ if only to sate the curiosity and longing heartache inside. 

Oh, how he longed for his attention, for his presence. He missed all his companions dearly, but his mind was consumed with images of shimmering silver and rich purple and the slow cadence with which Therion spoke, each word a journey to the next. He’d take a century of biting sarcasm and casual quips at his profession, if only to hear more of that mead sweet voice. It was no wonder his mind kept lingering back to nights spent together, simply speaking. Was that not what he missed the most? 

~*~*~*~

“Therion, are you leaving?” Rubbing another failed attempt at sleep from his eyes, Cyrus yawned, sitting up to eye Therion, who’d stood and walked to the small closet in their shared room. 

“I’m not,” he replied instantly, his voice just a touch too loud, too quick. Cyrus wondered if he had to convince himself of that as well. Adjusting, he continued on in a slow whisper, “I was just cold, thought I’d find some clean quilts.”

Considering his hands were empty, Cyrus assumed he hadn’t had much luck. He nodded in understanding. It was _cold_ here, and while many of the others found it amicable, he knew the second their feet had met snow once more that Therion and Primrose were suffering. Even he felt the chill of the night under the cover of a heavy quilt, and the cold never bothered him much. 

But where he was somewhat uncomfortable, Therion looked downright miserable. It was enough to spur him into bravery, and with the same hot rush of adrenaline Cyrus drew upon to cast his most powerful spells, he gestured Therion over to him. “Grab your quilt and pillow then, we can share. You’re _shivering._ ” 

Where he’d been miserable before, now Therion looked downright perplexed, his eyebrows furrowed together. Cyrus half expected to be hit for his suggestion, but instead Therion conceded with no further comment, grabbing his quilt and pillow as quietly as he could. “Move over then, else you’ll be bunking with a human icicle.” 

Quickly, Cyrus came to realise what a dual edged sword he’d set upon himself. Not only was Therion addictively warm—and the bed in turn was fast becoming _very_ cozy—but Cyrus was overwhelmed with the troublesome urge to hold him close. Not that he dared. Therion was not unlike a feral cat in that regard—it was fine to behold his beauty from afar, and perhaps leave food or warmth—but touching was strictly forbidden and would quickly result in sharp things slicing at his tender skin. 

…But he could get used to this all the same. 

~*~*~*~

The mere memory was enough to make Cyrus feel warm, his heart jumping into his throat. The feelings he harboured for his companion were troublingly deep, if even now months later he couldn’t get the object of his affections to leave his mind. 

Perhaps his largest mistake was assuming the thief wouldn’t steal something truly valuable from him. And yet, here he was, his brain reduced to nothingness, his every spare thought taken so thoughtlessly. 

~*~*~*~

The Frostlands were a vast place, and there were a fair number of settlements they had to visit in their journey. And it was terrible during the day—cold, dry air nipping his skin until it was raw and red while wet snow seeped with a slow sureness into every piece of clothing he wore—but the nights were tranquil, and Cyrus quickly came to look forwards to them. After waking unharmed that first night, Therion seemed to be more amicable to sharing warmth again. While he intentionally waited until their other two companions were asleep to do so, he made it a habit to slip into Cyrus’ bed without fail each night.

More than that, he escalated where Cyrus hadn’t dared, until one night he found himself with his arms full of drowsy thief, warm breath tickling his skin. The sensation was addictive, and he was woozy with it all. He had half a mind to call for Alfyn, just to be sure he hadn’t ingested something strong enough to induce a hallucination. 

Curled in against the crook of his neck, Cyrus felt the rumble of Therion speaking as much as he heard it. “You’re thinking too loud again. Just sleep, before you make _my_ head hurt.”

He must have understood that wasn’t enough of a balm for Cyrus’ anxieties, letting out a long suffering sigh that he’d grown dearly accustomed to having aimed in his direction. “If this is… Uncomfortable…” Therion went quiet, seemingly in thought before he continued, “you know, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

At that, Cyrus had to scoff, fingers running through Therion’s hair instinctively. He stilled them, but Therion pressed into the touch when he did, prompting Cyrus to continue. “That was never even on my mind. You’re a talented thief, undoubtedly, but you’re not a murderer. Regardless, there is not a single item on my person worth more than ten leaves, so if your plan _was_ to get close under the guise of warming up, you’d have made a terrible mistake. I’ve been informed I’m quite the clinger.” 

“Of what? Especially attractive books?”

“…I suppose a manuscript would count as a ‘book’ in your eyes,” Cyrus coughed, a flush rising on his cheeks, “though there is little more alluring to me than a good piece of literature, or a strong primary source on a scarcely recalled historical event… For example, I all but wept when the library reserve shared that they had gotten their hands on original versions of the first four parts of _The Complete History of The Flame_ , although the fifth part is still out of their hands. But still! I refuelled my lantern many times that night, and when Therese came to wake me in the morning she claimed I’d clung so tightly to the book that the word flame had etched itself onto my collarbone for most of the morning.” He sighed, scratching gently at the nape of Therion’s neck. It was only when he peered down that he realised Therion had drifted off entirely, his expression peaceful. His heart in his throat, Cyrus smiled, tucking his face into soft hair. It seemed Therion had successfully quieted his mind, sleep finding him with ease.

~*~*~*~

“Professor Cyrus,” the soft, rhythmic tap of knuckles on a door snapped him out of his reminiscing, the dreamy memory of a lithe frame and a slow heartbeat drifting off into nothingness. 

“Come in,” he replied, shaking his head to dispel the last of his thoughts. 

The new headmaster’s assistant entered first, standing prim and proper. Inspired, Cyrus sat up straighter in response, watching as she stood to the side. “The headmaster wanted me to inform you that your new student has arrived from Noblecourt. Furthermore, House Azelhart wants to thank you for taking on their charge so late in the semester,” she bowed at that—leaving too quickly to notice the way Cyrus was gaping after her. 

His brain ran a mile a minute, trying desperately to decipher who Primrose—because surely it had to be her, as the sole heiress to the Azelhart name—had sent to him. Furthermore, why would she fail to give him even the smallest of warnings? If he’d known, he would have had time to prepare a lesson plan to catch up his new pupil, as well as personal tutoring time. Now, he’d be scrambling to prepare. Did she think so little of his craft as to assume he just stood in front of a room and talked at his dead-eyed pupils?

He didn’t notice a figure had entered through the still open door until there was another knock on the door, Cyrus’ head swivelling to face the source of the noise, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a little preocc— Oh.”

The figure in the doorway grinned at that, closing the large wooden door behind him. His figure was draped in the elegant black and gold robes of all scholars at the academy, and Cyrus’ mouth grew dry at the sight. 

“It’s been a while, _professor_ ,” his words came out smooth like honey, Cyrus standing thoughtlessly, circling his desk to face his dear Therion directly. 

“You’re here,” he whispered, in clear shock. Therion nodded. “In Atlasdam,” he nodded again, amusement clear on his face, “to be my student?” At that, Therion shook his head, barely biting down the clear smile on his face.

“It’s a convenient disguise, isn’t it? Prim helped—that wasn’t a lie, at least, I truly am enrolled, although it is under a fake name—but you won’t catch me dead studying. But, I do have something for you.”

“A gift?” Cyrus was a stunned all over again, and a tad bit embarrassed he hadn’t thought to do the same for the thief—even if he had no way of knowing he was coming. 

“…Perhaps more of a bribe, given the circumstances,” at that, Therion reached into the dark cloak, emerging with a tomb in his hands.

It wasn’t clear immediately, but after a moment Cyrus gasped, reaching forwards. “ _The fifth volume of The Complete History of the Flame_? Where did you _find_ this?”

“You probably don’t want to know,” Therion replied, a wry smile on his face, “or maybe you would, considering how much you blab on about how knowledge should belong to the masses.”

He paused his inspection of the binding of the book—as beautiful as it was—to gape at Therion, “you didn’t! Therion, do you know how much this book is worth?”

“Probably not much anymore, considering Prim went ahead and got several copies made for me. But you, dear professor, get the original copy all to yourself. Probably want to keep it under wraps as well, last I heard guards are still prancing around Everhold for it.”

“I… Thank you, Therion! Truly, from the bottom of my heart, and from every scholar, this is an incredible find! But…” He frowned at the book, stroking it’s front gently, “why? You had no reason to put yourself at risk like this for my sake.”

Something unreadable flashed across Therion’s face then, before his hands smoothed down the front of his robe. “It’s a bribe,” he repeated, “I steal rare, valuable books for you to do with as you please—hide them, share them, _burn them_ —and you pretend I’ve been a hardworking—but completely unnoteworthy—student.” 

Cyrus realised then that Therion had gotten _very_ close, having to turn his gaze downwards for their eyes to meet. “You’re asking me to commit fraud. Is that all? Because Therion, that is against my principles as a scholar and frankly—”

“I’d like to stay in your home as well.”

He’d been lost before. Now he was lost _and_ embarrassed, his mind immediately filled with memories of Therion in his arms. He shook his head to dispel them, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Therion.”

That same unreadable look crossed Therion’s face at that, but lingered, his hands curling into fists and uncurling in succession. He seemed to be weighing several options in his head, before at last he let out a humorless laugh. “Would’ve thought after all those lessons Prim was giving you, you’d have picked up at least a little more awareness.”

~*~*~*~

“Ah, Cyrus, come in!” Primrose was adorned in one of her signature dancing garbs, but a fur coat—either Ophilia’s or H’aanit’s—was wrapped elegantly around her shoulders. She smiled warmly as Cyrus sat across from her, pressing a small cup of tea towards him. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you’d truly show up. I understand if I’d embarrassed you too much in front of the others, or if you were uninterested. This is a bit of a non-traditional form of knowledge, after all…”

Cyrus put a hand up to stop her before she could continue, “nonsense! All knowledge is valuable, and who would I be as a scholar if I denied myself a chance to learn? Especially from a woman so clearly ripe with it as you.”

She coughed at that, a faint flush on her cheeks, “well, I suppose we should begin with a simple lesson. You should never refer to something of a woman’s—even as metaphorical as a thought—as _ripe._ ”

Grabbing his notebook, Cyrus scribbled the information down, before glancing up at his teacher. “Er, I understand how that would work in practice, but, why?”

“Oh… We may need more tea.”

~*~*~*~

Cyrus flushed from his neck to his forehead at the memories, and even more so at the knowledge that Therion knew about his lessons with Primrose. “I’ll have you know I did _wonderfully_ in those lessons. Not a single woman has declared her affections for me since!” 

“You know, most men wouldn’t consider that a positive.”

“Yes, well… I suppose I’m not most men. Besides, I must admit I’ve been infatuated with someone helplessly enticing as of late, I’m sorry to say. Although I’m quite sure it’s completely unrequited, there’s something of a joy in the mere act of experiencing such strong emotions,” confessing that in Therion’s presence was oddly freeing, even as his companion grimaced at him, his cheeks…Pink, for some reason.

“You are going to be the death of me.”

Cyrus wasn’t given a chance to question the statement before Therion plucked the book straight from his hands—placing it gingerly on his desk—before calloused hands cupped his cheeks, and Therion leaned up, pressing his lips to Cyrus’ with enough desperate frustration that he felt it in his very soul. He was woozy immediately, leaning back against his desk as his eyes fell shut, and when Therion pulled away he chased his lips, stealing another soft kiss that drew a pleased hum from his dear thief. 

Therion gazed at him, eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Do you get it now, professor?”

“…Admittedly, this has resulted in more questions than it’s answered, but, I suppose there’s time later to ask questions.” He couldn’t keep the beaming smile off his face as he spoke, one hand rested lazily on his hip while the other reached up, stroking his cheek gently. “You, my dear, are utterly _enchanting._ It’d be unbecoming of me to not receive your affections with as much grace as I can muster.”

“You can’t receive any affections if you don’t stop talking so much,” his smile turned devilish, Therion ducked back in for another kiss, just briefly. “You go back to work, I think I’ll go settle in, maybe explore the sights. You scholarly folk have pockets looser than your lips,” backing away, Therion held up a golden chain wrapped deftly around his fingers—Cyrus acutely aware of how bare his neck had become. He watched the thief pull it over his head, walking confidently from the room, brought to silence. 

…Hopefully this would help him readjust better, and not just distract him from his work. Therion was much too good at that.

**Author's Note:**

> if i gota make this content myself to scratch this octo itch... then so b it  
> hope y'all like....................... tenderness
> 
> also while ive got you all here, we all know therion is the smartest of the men, yes? a veritable genius, stunted only by the circumstances in which he was raised? that travel banter where he mentions to cyrus he might have been a scholar, everyone clung onto that because it was cute or smth i guess but whats more interesting is the implication that our thief boys gotta lotta grey matter up in that head, hes just using it for tricky thievery fuckshit, blah blah capitalism KILLED therions chance to discover like, helium, or something. thanks for coming 2 my ted talk


End file.
